Liferuiner
by Ayoshen
Summary: Emma is obviously sick but also, it seems, determined to start a flu pandemic in Storybrooke, and Storybrooke can't have that. And Regina is Storybrooke.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Soo... this is a week or two old threeshot that I started just because I was in Emma's condition, sniffling and sniveling and sneezing and let's face it, every ship needs to use this plot twist at least once, even though it's about as original as the holes in the socks I'm wearing. I turned out into something... more, but not much more, if that makes sense. Well, I'll let you see for yourself.

Le moi is not a native English speaker. You've been warned yet again.**  
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><p>Life with Mary Margaret had its many perks, that much was true. It represented an endless supply of hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon on top, a bittersweet farewell to constant loneliness and fun nights of cards combined with the occassional drinking game while watching Gone with the Wind repeatedly (don't ask, the average human mind just isn't equipped for a revelation like that). However, the transition was all too rough for a certain Emma Swan, so she welcomed the reversion to a life of solitude – if only for a week while Mary Margaret was on a trip in the woods with her class. Something biology-related; she didn't even know. The important part is that she was going to enjoy every minute of it with loud Rolling Stones, loud bickering with the Mayor and definitely loud—<p>

"ACHOO!"

"We will now take a short break. Miss Swan, a word," the all too regal brunette announced from her seat on the stage. The way she drew out the 'Miss' for an unnecessary second or two and her voice then dropped a note or two lower made her annoyance blatant and members of the city council broke into chatter, placing bets on for how long the Sheriff was going to get suspended.

Emma wiped her nose into the back of her hand and rolled her eyes, following Regina none too enthusiastically out of the room. This was either going to ruin her day or give her an opportunity to bless the Mayor with a few snarky remarks of her own.

The few steps seemed like a journey across the Saharan desert and once outside, Emma struggled to focus on whatever Regina was saying. It wasn't like she had a raging headache or anything of the sort. Yet somehow, all she managed to register from the monologue was this: "You're obviously in no condition to be working. Go home; get some rest."

"I habe do idea whad you're dalking aboud," Emma deflected and didn't realize how silly her confidence sounded in combination with her runny nose strongly influencing the better part of her pronuncation.

"Right, and I'm the Evil Queen," Regina snorted under her breath, giving the blonde her best 'oh please' face. "You're distracting everyone with your sneezing, your entire contribution to the debate so far has consisted of sniveling – repulsive, I might add – and you're of no use to anybody with a fever like that."

"I don'd habe uh—"

"Unlike you, Miss Swan, I am a mother, and all these years of training come with an impeccable instinct to tell a flu from miles and miles away; not to mention you could be diagnosed by a monkey with a bottle of Motrin. Your sinuses are practically glaring at me." Everyone knew things were about to get ugly when Regina resorted to putting her hands on her hips in true Superman fashion. She was counting on it.

"Well, dank you for that graphic describshion, Badam Bayor. That's very cobforting—eh—eh—" Emma jumped involuntarily as her whole body shook with another violent _ACHOO_. She kept holding her nose for fear of it happening again. The itch was there and it all suggested she would sneeze one more time, but no. Her nose just had to deny her that relief. It was the worst feeling since being smacked square in the face by a certain town Mayor.

"Go home, so I can function without your constant interruptions. Or else I will have you thrown out for spreading germs all over the place," Regina commanded and returned to the rest of the council (which was really just a fancy name for anyone who meant anything in Storybrooke), closing the door behind her.

Guh. Fide.

She was deeply immersed into watching CSI: Miami on full volume, listening carefully so as not to miss any of Caruso's one-liners and crunching a fistful of salty popcorn from the box on her lap (_Mary Margaret wasn't home, people!_) when the doorbell rang. "Whaddyou wand?"

Regina observed the scene from the hallway. She took in the tank top and sweatpants, the nose one could easily mistake for Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, the pieces of popcorn lying on the floor, the obnoxiously loud shooting coming from the television screen, the bucket of by now half-melted ice cream on the kitchen counter – and that was the last straw. "Do I have to spell it out for you? Bed! Now!" She yelled, storming right past the blonde and towards the TV remote, which she grabbed and promptly hit the mute button with extraordinary precision (years of practice with Henry, Emma assumed).

"Whoa, whoa, hold od a second, you can'd be here!" the younger woman protested, watching in silent horror as her favorite cold caramel treat headed straight for the trash can. The same then counted for what was left in the box of delicious, delicious microwave popcorn. A sudden urge to ask whether she could at least crash on the couch washed over her before she realized that however influential, Regina couldn't do crap to her if she simply decided not to listen to a thing she said. Unless she was going to kill her with a kitchen knife.

She was willing to take that risk.

While Regina was busy pouring the one substance that had been keeping her alive – her coffee – in the sink, Emma stumbled over to the couch and fell onto it with an _'unf'_, deciding this time was as good as any to wrap her arms around herself and take a short nap. Not that she was exhausted and shivering, let alone completely drained of all energy; no, she was just too lazy to deal with the Mayor's bullshit right now. Or anytime soon, for that matter.

Sometime later – had it been minutes or hours? She couldn't tell – Regina was back with her blanket, obviously having figured out the chances of Emma moving by herself were less than slim. "You can't take care of my town if you can't even take care of yourself. I swear to god, never before have I met an irresponsible idiot such as yourself," she scoffed, throwing the blanket over the blonde, who was already half asleep.

"Uhuh, dodally. I'b all tucked in like a good girl. Dow could you please leave be do by bisery? And CSI?" Wrapping the blanket tighter around herself, Emma aimed all her remaining energy at trying to make her lip stop quivering. It was kind of her thing; no matter how horrible she looked (and how well aware she was of it), she would always put up a fight and try to seem worthy of whoever she was talking to.

Try to seem less miserable.

By then, Regina was already done making ginger tea with honey and lemon – the instant cure-all – and set one cup on the table (along with a much needed box of tissues) before settling at Emma's feet on the couch with her own cup in hand, sipping her tea as delicately as if she hadn't just finished taking the whole place apart.

"No," answered the brunette calmly a short while later as she set the bellflower-patterned cup down on the saucer.

Emma glared at her from behind the blanket and sank deeper into the back of the couch. A week of freedom had been turned into a week of torture and endless suffering, and as far as she was concerned, it wasn't the disease's fault.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **From fluff to angst. Oops.**  
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><p><strong> Chapter 2<strong>

It was eight in the evening and for some mysterious reason, Regina was still there, still sitting at her feet and reading a suspiciously thick book. If Emma gave half a damn, she would check to see what it was about, but all her curiosity had been snuffed out the moment she became a prisoner in her own house (okay, not exactly – but she doesn't like to trifle with technicalities). That and the fact that Regina would slap any part of her that as much as dared to emerge from under the blanket once or twice prevented her from trying to do anything. And made her bored out of her mind. And cold and hot at the same time while minutes felt like years.

Tick-tock, hummed the clock on the wall. Again she tried to steal herself just a little relief and again the brunette slapped her fingers (and man, try doing that when you're wearing a ring – ouch). It was like she had eyes at the back of her head, Emma thought, entirely unamused.

"It's about time. Take this," Regina said, pointing to the bottle filled with thick green fluid swimming inside of it. She never stopped reading the book.

"Hell no. That stuff's deadly," the blonde replied, her voice hoarse and wheezy from all the coughing she'd done.

"I said _take it._"

Madam Mayor had been a pain in the neck for Emma since the day they met, that much was true, but having her around when Emma was sick made her presence downright unbearable. While normally she might have enjoyed the little tug-o-wars, now, when she was alone in the belly of the beast, felt everything but safe and might have been a little delirious, something inside of her snapped.

"If this is your idea of treatment, it's no wonder Henry hates you."

The whisper was enough to make Regina look up. Emma regretted her words at that very moment as she saw her close the book, lay it gently on the desk and go to Mary's room – and the sad irony in that was that though it felt wrong for her to even exist anywhere near anything that bore Mary's name, Regina still belonged there more than she did by Emma's side.

She wrapped her arms around herself – courtesy of a cold breeze, no doubt – and leaned against the wall. No wonder indeed.

Emma sat up and finally took a closer look at the ragged, frail-looking book. There was a ring of flowers on the front cover. In the middle, it said _'Grimms' Fairy Tales – Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm'_.

Fuck this. So they hadn't really hit it off. Maybe Regina had had her arrested once or twice, gotten her fired, tampered with her feelings, made her life a living hell _und so weiter und so fort,_ but besides that, she was still Regina. She was still the mother of her child. And Emma knew she shouldn't feel as guilty as she did but – fuck this. If she wanted to get back at Regina, she could have devised a master plan no one but Madam Mayor could crack and vice versa and they would do so and they would take turns, just like it had always been; like a game of chess. But the disease made her cranky and in her grumpiness, Emma accidentally moved two pawns in one turn. That wasn't exactly fair. Good has to play fair. That's where the name comes from, after all.

Emma tiptoed to the door to Mary's room, opening the door so that there was just enough space for her to see the all powerful Mayor glancing out the window with her back facing the blonde woman. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for and immature, not to mention false." There, all fixed. The pawn is back at B2.

Regina turned around and it felt like the sky was falling. "Immature? Try rude, hurtful and moronic," she shot back, all daggers and no poison – strangely unlike her as far as Emma could tell. And it was okay – she deserved it, she did. Don't talk back. Don't talk back. Don't— "What gives you the right to tell _me_ anything about _my_ parenting skills? You think _your_ ideas are better? You think council meetings and ice cream and horror movies and who knows what else you've got under your bed are the cure? My methods may not always be as orthodox as you would like, Miss Swan, but god help me if I'm not the only fit parent in this room, because you are too self-absorbed to realize that if it weren't for me, they might have had to transport you to the hospital hours ago! _Don't you dare lecture me, because if it were Henry, he would be dying by the time you realized something was wrong!_"

Tick-tock, the clock wanted to sing, but quickly changed its mind. This was the moment where tumbleweed would stroll inconspicuously across the screen in old Western films from the good cowboy to the bad cowboy, whose hands were so damn close to the revolver's handle a close-up had to follow in order to capture it, fingers twitching, almost reaching for it, but not quite, sweat dripping off the rivals' foreheads, until one of them shoots—

"I knew I was sick. I stayed because I didn't want to disappoint you."

Blimey, cat's out of the bag.

The confession caught Regina off-guard and she stared dumbfounded at the blonde, trying to process the information. No one had ever done anything because they didn't… what did she say again? "Disappoint me?" It had been Regina's move, hadn't it?

The good guy decided to gallop for the hills instead. She was bored of explaining. "Why did you come here?"

"Because you're not well and because you're important."

"To whom?"

"The town."

Emma let out an exasperated sigh and didn't try to conceal how her chest heaved. Surely Madam Mayor knew what she wanted to hear, but like with everything else, was too stubborn and conceited to give it to her for free. "There are thousands of people in Storybrooke, Regina. I doubt everyone considers me valuable here; not to mention there isn't that much to do." Her voice was empty and sullen, almost like a part of her wanted to be sad, but the other couldn't allow it to. She said 'here'. Here, at this moment, 'here' meant anywhere. "Why are you really here? What's your plan?"

Why do you really exist?

"To me. You're valua—" Regina interrupted herself mid-sentence, staring at the carpet. She was going the regret this later. Hell, she regretted it before she even said it. "_Important_ to _me_. Now go back to bed. It's not going to get any better if you keep this up."

Daggers _and_ poison, that was the real Regina alright. Emma didn't even bother to look at her as she dragged her feet back to the couch – _ACHOO! _– leaving a bewildered Mayor behind.

She thought this was what Emma wanted to hear, but apparently she was mistaken.


	3. Chapter 3

It was all part of some cleverly devised plan with the goal of robbing her of her sanity somehow, Emma was sure of it. She couldn't think of any other valid reason for why Regina would show up at her doorstep (knowing Mary wasn't home for the week, no less), and when the merciless, always disciplined and a whole new meaning of detached Mayor said the I word with the same empty gaze she had thrown her way when Emma asked if she loved Henry, she knew Regina was lying. Worst of all was knowing that although the truth was as plain as the nose on her face, she would try to hide it anyway, pretending it was some kind of herculean feat that she managed to lie so convincingly. Almost as if she were _proud_ of this ability of hers.

Feeling sick to her stomach, Emma rolled over to face the back of the couch. Not that she made an effort out of trying to keep her eyes open, anyway. If she fell asleep, she wouldn't have to deal with Regina anymore. She wouldn't have to see her like everyone else in her life. She would sleep through it at peace. What more was there to wish for?

When she closed her eyes, she thought about Henry and what he would say if he saw the two of them arguing like this. Would he agree with Emma and take her side? Would the situation help ignite a spark of long lost love for Regina in him and unite them against her? Would he cry? Would his chin quiver as he runs away, slamming the door behind him? Strangely enough, none of these scenarios playing out in her head seemed to end well. Except maybe for Regina, because Regina didn't care about anyone else's feelings and emotions. That much was clear.

_"ACHOO!"_

She didn't know where Madam Mayor was at the moment and neither did she care, but she hated having to let it be known that she was still awake. That damned flu. It wasn't exactly helping her reach her destination in Neverland, along with those unpleasant thoughts, which she needed to stop, but didn't know how. They just kept pouring in. Lying with her head buried up to her ears under the quilt, she wished she had heard a lullaby in her life so that she could sing it in her mind and listen to it rather than her maternal instincts babbling on nonsense. Henry was home. Safe and sound.

Emma was soon floating in a black void. Somewhere above, in the distance, there was a bright light… somewhere far away. And just then, she remembered that Henry was home _alone_, but it was too late to reach the surface. For a hundredth of a moment, she panicked, but the deeper she sank, the more numb she became, engulfed by the darkness of sleep.

"Henry–" she hissed, jerking awake. He's home alone and it must have been evening already and Regina was… was… pressing a wet towel to her forehead?

"If you're going to complain some more, do it without moving, or I'll super glue it to your head."

The momentary shock passed quickly as she remembered the reason she was up. "You need to go home. Henry, he's–"

"He's fine, dear." Emma shuddered at that. The first time she had heard those exact words, Henry had been everything but fine. "He's a well-behaved young man and he knows better than to light candles, mess with the stove, run on the stairs…"

The blonde woman zoned out while Regina continued to recite the many things Henry would never do, half of which she knew he had already done, and that didn't reassure her in the slightest.

"…bury corpses in the backyard, bring home stray animals and people alike—oh, wait," she finished, smirking at Emma in all her holier-than-thou smugness.

"I doubt that. You're not setting a good example since you're looking after a stray yourself. Here I thought you were the protective one."

Regina froze, holding the towel to Emma's forehead – now that she'd lain down again – and put on a mask, contemplating the best response, apparently. It was a mere moment of hesitation, but Emma had seen enough of those to recognize it and the fact it came bundled with – that the person wearing it had something to hide.

"Touché," the Mayor finally spoke.

Emma had heard enough of those sighs that people let out when there's a burden on their shoulders. The sigh is as far as they ever go to sharing it with the world. And she was right, because the next words spoken were "Go back to sleep. The last thing you need is to worry for no reason."

Silence. Tick-tock, creak, sniffle. Sharing a look is off limits.

"Hey, Regina?"

Just close your eyes.

"If you want to say something, Miss Swan, be straightforward with me."

You'll be alright.

"Thanks."

She was already dozing off again and didn't see the expression on Regina's face. She didn't see the corners of her mouth curl upwards ever so slightly. But even half asleep, she did feel the touch of something much softer than a towel on her temple; she felt it linger, feather-light and gentle, and she smiled to herself when it left her. Nope, she didn't need lullabies.

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><p>"I… did not expect this."<p>

Emma opened one eye lazily to find Mary Margaret standing in the doorway with her eyebrows a few feet higher on the ceiling and gulped, recalling a clear image of her personal CSI-and-candy convention she never got the chance to clean up after.

"I thought I would come home to the house burnt down and you… actually didn't do anything," Mary said, her voice rising up a notch towards the end of the sentence as if in question.

"I didn't?" Emma sat up and then cleared her throat, "I didn't," she repeated, this time sounding much more convinced. She looked around and indeed, all traces of her get-better party were gone.

Everything except for an old, worn book lying on the table.

"What's that?" Mary inquired, tilting her chin towards it as she started unpacking.

"Just some fairytales I borrowed from the library," Emma lied.

"I see Henry's gotten through to you, hasn't he?"

The blonde took the book in her hands and noticed a piece of paper sticking out from between page 108 and 109. Out of curiosity, she peeked in and saw that some tale about an ugly duckling began at that point.

_Read this one,_ _stray,_ the note said.

Emma shook her head with a smile, careful not to laugh out loud and attract Mary's attention. "Yeah. Henry."


End file.
